


The Twelfth Year

by SallieeCinnamon



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternative real events, F/M, Jill is blonde, References to RE5 and RE6, post RE5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SallieeCinnamon/pseuds/SallieeCinnamon
Summary: After RE3, Carlos and Jill took care of each other for about a month before they parted their ways. They haven't seen or heard from each other ever since then...until 12 years later in 2010 when this story begins.This story is told in Carlos POV.
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I shipped Carlos and Jill I've been thinking about how to get them back together with things happened in RE5/6. This fic is one of my attempts.  
> The idea that they haven't seen each other for over a decade may be an unpopular one, but it's true to me in that I HAVEN'T SEEN CARLOS FOR TWO DECADES AND I HAVE TO WRITE THIS!  
> Yes, I have to write this before Capcom does anything to death sentence my headcanon.

A churning soup of black glue. That’s the sea.  
A lifelessly silent morgue. That’s the beach.

He is walking barefoot on the sands, surrounded by fragments of fishes and birds that stink rottenly under the burning sun. How he has got here he doesn’t know. Neither does he know where he is going. All he seems to know is the unbearable heat that dominates this endless inferno.  
As he wipes away the sweat in his eyes, something jumps in sight - something enormous, roughly two or three hundred feet away. He is never an expertise in marine mammals, but as he gets closer he becomes sure that it is a whale - dark as nightmare, discarded by charcoal waves, stranded on obsidian shore. 

He runs towards it. 

But there is no whale. Only the skeleton of it - long, pale rib bones piercing out from black sand, forming an arched cage.  
Inside the cage lies a woman. Curled up, with only her naked back visible from his perspective, she is almost transparent. 

He kneels down by her.  
She is unconscious. Probably dead, too.  
Suppressing his dread, he reaches down to brush away the locks of damp hair that hide her face.

“...Jill?”

\---

May 20, 2010. Miami.

Carlos wakes up, gasping in his bed, realizing his monochrome nightmare is anything but traceless - his violently beating heart for one thing, and the heat - the heat is real. He can feel the dampness of the sweat-soaken sheets underneath. The AC is down. Power supply has been unstable these few days due to the weather.  
He grabs his cellphone from the nightstand. It says 4 am. A news app he failed to exit before sleep still reads last night’s headline: Disastrous Oil Spill in the Gulf of Mexico.  
“Great. Explains why I’ve been having these funny dreams.”  
He gets out of bed. Living room. Switchboard. Bedroom. Turn on the light - a wrong step - the bright white light proves deadly to his half-awaken eyes. Groaning, he squints and searches around the room. There is an open booklet on the carpet with its cover facing upward - “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair” by Pablo Neruda, the original Spanish version.  
“Bedtime reading: not recommended.” He comments. It was a gift from a girl he met a few days ago. She was sweet; he took the gift and thanked her, before suggesting - nicely and sincerely - that there are better things to do than wasting her time on him.  
Underneath the booklet he finds the AC remote he’s been looking for. With it he resurrects the machine. It answers by replaying its low humming tune that usually serves as his lullaby - but not tonight, not now, as he finds himself wider awake with every second passed. Miami’s skyline never allows itself to fade into the night, and the quarter moon tonight has not been shy. He turns off the light, and strolls into the kitchen for a glass of water. Drinking it up in one draw he finds himself still thirsty. As he tries to enjoy his second glass much slower, he watches two or three cars drive past his window; some drunk dude begins roaring broken songs down in the street, and with abrupt silence he eventually collapses on the lawn before waking anyone in the neighborhood.

When Carlos gets back to his bedroom, it is much cooler there. But he knows the rate of falling back to sleep for him has dropped to near zero.

Jill.

Dreams about her have gradually stopped coming these years. The first few years were the worst. In those days he either couldn’t sleep at all, or dreamed of her almost every other night. In some dreams one of them died in front of the other’s eyes. In others they spent the rest of their life together in some pastoral edge of the world. Regardless of their numerous similar details, most dreams were forgotten. Except one - the day they parted their ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The oil spill: There was an oil spill accident in the Gulf of Mexico in 2010, just not in May but in April.


	2. Chapter 2

November 8, 1998. A small town in Midwest.

Jill was up early that day. 

As the autumn set in, they took some efforts in keeping their rooms warm at night, and Jill’s sleep had evidently benefited from this. Sleep had been one of their primary problems from the beginning. It was more difficult for Jill because she had been relying on pills even before all this: there were nights she woke up screaming, almost leading him to believe that this crappy little town has fallen too. Then, both tossed out of sleep, they would gather on the sofa in the living room, where he would keep the logs burning low in the fireplace. Outside the wind howled, accompanied by the occasional cracks of the timber. Jill, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, was utterly quiet. Carlos, somehow reminded of all those vigil nights he spent in the jungles, would started humming - nostalgic ballads born on Latin American lands that he could only remember fragments of their lyrics. _Does Jill know Spanish?_ He looked at her and found her still silent, eyes casting vacantly into the fire.  
“Don’t stare at the fire for too long, Jill.”  
She heard him and raised one of her arms, blocking her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she bit her lip.  
He let her rest her head on his shoulder and gently patted her arm. “It’s okay, Jill. It’s okay to cry. Even for a supercop.”  
She’s never been the crying type. In flickering dim firelight he softly sang as the night grew old. And with her hand in his, she let her tears quietly stream down her face, like calm rivers of gold.

Jill was packing in her twilight-lit bedroom.  
“Morning supercop.” He said by her door.  
“Carlos. Did I wake you up?” She was slightly startled. “You should go back to sleep. It’s still early.”  
“It’s not. I’m gonna drive you to the airport. Remember that?”  
A piece of her clothes was tragically rolled into a ball, as she tried to force it into her overly small suitcase. “I can really go by myself.”  
“We had a deal last night. ” He felt the necessity to insist. “I know what you were thinking. You wanna sneak out while I’m still asleep? No way.”  
“Fine.” She sighed. And smiled.

It was nothing too difficult to come by, her smile. At least it didn’t take him too long to get the knack: you just needed to make sure the surrounding was safe enough for harmless jokes and light-hearted flirting; let her know that your admiration was genuine, and that you did care about her feelings. He took every chance to make her smile since he loved to see it flash in her pleasant blue eyes, and what’s more - she needed it.

When they were both good to go, Carlos noticed that Jill had changed her outfit. For the past month she had been wearing airy one-piece dresses in hoping that the countless wounds on her body would heal faster. For that, Carlos counted himself one of the luckiest since he assumed it was rare for supercop to wear such “sweet” stuff. Now she was back to her black jeans and boots, with a loose button-down shirt on top for the chilly late autumn air and the burns yet to heal on her back.  
Carlos surveyed her, didn’t even try hard to hide the admiration in his gaze. “You look badass.”  
“Looking badass doesn’t necessarily save the world.”  
“Hey. You’re supercop. Consider it done.”  
\- There it went again. Her smile.

He drove her with the small old SUV which their landlady had offered them along with the house. “Poor kids.” When they arrived in this town, all bruised and scarred and limping, the old lady had guessed them to be among the very few who made it out alive from Raccoon City. She was kind enough to trust them not to turn into zombies and took them in. "Stay as long as you want. Take the old car if you need. Drive to the nearby mountain range. The view is gorgeous in this time of year."

They knew better than to venture a mountain road trip, of course. The SUV, however, proved to be of great use when they had to go to the nearby bigger town for shopping. At first, this was hardly a pleasant thing to do as both of them were weary and distraught, and seldom did they exchange words on the way. They did make lists together. Once they got to the supermarket, they immediately went their separated ways to the shelves that had been assigned to each of them. Their first shopping had the SUV fully loaded to nearly spill, and they both believed that this would also be their last. As it turned out, they had clearly underestimated the rate of their resource consumption: food aside, there was also the need for medication. Both of them should stay in a hospital for days, but neither could afford such limitation. Instead they tried to treat themselves, and recurrent shoppings was the consequence.  
Fortunately, their self-treatments were working. When they had recovered to a certain degree, shopping stopped being a risky and tedious task. If anything, it became a refreshing pastime. In some days they didn’t head home until dusk, Carlos would drive while casually following the hit songs on the radio, with supercop sitting by his side enjoying an ice-cream. Finishing it she would then offer to drive. They got off half way to exchange their seats, and he watched as her white dress fluttered and her brown hair danced in the ultramarine evening breeze; with a light step she hopped on the driver’s seat, careless and relaxed - a scene almost too beautiful to be in their story.

The drive to the airport was short. Too short, for him. He took Jill’s suitcase from the back seat. Slowly as they walked, the terminal entrance was still drawing inevitability closer with every step.

Jill stopped there.  
Despite his will, farewell awaited.

_This won’t do, Carlos. She hasn’t left yet and you are already missing her._

She took the suitcase from him and laid it on the ground beside her.  
“Stay alive, Carlos.”  
“I will. I told you I wouldn’t -”  
“Leave me in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world. Yes. I remember. Promise me.”  
Carlos held his breath. “I promise.”

Strangely, he can’t recall which one of them first reached out to hold the other. They were so close at that moment that their foreheads touched...But he does remember kissing her. It was a brief kiss, but tangible and meaningful. He could feel Jill freeze in his arms, but she didn’t push him away. He looked down, her eyelashes slightly quivered, hiding her blue eyes from him like a myth.

When he let go of her, she grabbed the suitcase, and left without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They didn't end up banging back in 1998. Surprise? <3
> 
> The next chapter must wait a little though. I need to think it through on how to present the way they meet 12 years after.  
> Plus works are killing me these days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. In writing this chapter I experimented with the possibilities of Carlos’ post-RE5 occupation, and my choice here is neither mercenary nor BSAA.  
> 2\. Jill is gloomy for some reasons.

May 20, 2010. Miami.

Dreaming about Jill tends to lead Carlos into a sentiment he’s unaccustomed to. He doesn’t like that. He remembers his mother’s untiring enthusiasm in extracting whatever cannily hidden messages from a dream, wondering what she would make out of his oily-ocean-and-Jill-in-a-whale noir episode, and eventually decides to stop himself from indulging in such thoughts.  
Knowing he wouldn’t get much sleep anyway, he gets up early, makes breakfast and ate alone, adds a little extra to his daily exercise routine, showers, lunches alone, and then goes to work.

It is 3pm when he gets to González’s bar, and sees Sofia flipping the “Close” to its “Open” side. Where a shining sun has ruled the whole morning, dark clouds are now gathering - a storm in sight.

González is not here by this hour. Just celebrated his 60th birthday last month, the old man has a face that matches his name - difficult to make out once submerged into the crowd. 12 years ago, by getting rid of Umbrella, Carlos had put himself on the verge of repatriation. It was González who prevented this and in return he asked Carlos for body guard service for his “little business”, saying “A decent information broker can do with some protection.” As it played out in the following months, his bar could largely be described as tranquil apart from minor gang scuffles, soccer fans drunk fights, and illegal marijuana selling. Carlos almost believed González to be no more than a boasting, innocent bar owner. But things went a little different at the beginning of the millennium: the number of days on which the old man actually requested for Carlos’ service started to mount; there were more unfamiliar faces coming to the bar, doing nothing in particular but looked suspicious. Then, in less than a year, the world saw big news popping out from their mother country.

When Carlos asked González whether he and his “friends” had a part in all these, the old man looked back at him, saying nothing but smiled.

“I want in.” Carlos decided. “How do I do that?”  
“You’ve already been ‘in’ for some time, kid.”

Yet it was not until then did the whole picture of what they are now doing begin to gradually unfold in front of him - for sufferings to end early in his motherland, or whatever else that falls into the immense category of “Peace”...he found himself willing to contribute, even in the dark, to these prospects that seem too grand for an individual. Naturally, he wouldn’t miss any chance to seek certain private interests in the convenience of his work, but for all these years luck has not favored him - about Jill, there’s been not much he could get. In 2003, news on Umbrella’s fate and the newly-established BSAA did reach them before the public. But no names were mentioned in the details. Nevertheless, with his faith in her Carlos knew Jill had a great part in that.

Roughly two hours after the bar opened, the storm hits. All in a sudden the streets outside are flooded by the unrelenting poundings of the heavy rain, echoing with the impatient blaring of cars lining up. The sky now looks like apocalypse, and all streetlights are bringing themselves online at this early hour. In the bar, passers-by keep streaming in for a shelter as well as a drink, and Sofia is having her hands full at the counter. Carlos has just finished washing his hands and started to help when another tinkle raises from the entrance. He takes a casual look at the pack coming in.

And recognizes her almost at his first glance.

Blonde hair in a low ponytail. Soaked blue blouse. No longer that supercop who stomped into their train, bruised, proud, with fire burning in her eyes. Half-drenched, she looks pale and tired in the dim light; her expression detached, with a subtle touch of sadness. And all these, he marvels, are making her even more beautiful.

The memory of the dream he had last night comes back to him, along side with a shuddering realization that supernatural probably has its reason to exist. While he has yet to utter her name, her professional instinct has captured his unusually unaverting eyes.

Her face turns into a mixture of doubt and hope. The room, the crowd...the whole world, are quickly fading into a glowing blur and all he can see is her, coming closer and closer towards him.

“Carlos?”  
“Jill.”

Carlos passes Jill a T-shirt he has borrowed from Sofia together with a towel, before she leaves for the restroom. He then goes back to the counter to make her a Baileys on the rocks. At an otherwise neglected corner he finds her, serves the drink like a proper waiter does, and sits down opposite her.

“Thanks.” She says gratefully and takes a sip. “Tastes good.”  
“My pleasure. Enjoy.”

This brief interchange foreshadows a long silence between them.  
Another cliche verified, Carlos muses to himself, to actually meet someone you’ve been longing to see for years, a loss of words may be one of the first things you should expect.

“So, what brings you to Miami? New mission?”

 _This is so fucking banal and not Carlos-ly at all._ And a bad move. _See the shadow in her eyes?_ Work is apparently the last thing she wants to talk about at this moment.

“More or less.” She rolls her eyes a bit and takes another sip. _At least she likes the drink._ And after several gloomy sips it does open her up a little, “You know, I was lying. Truth is I was given a vacation. Or an exile, more likely.”

She has changed. A lot. He realizes. Her weariness is not caused by the rain, and neither is aging to be blamed for her overall lack of interest. _What did THEY do to her?_

But she is still holding back. This is going to take some efforts, which he is undoubtedly willing to give. Showing an average care from an old friend, he asks, “Mind telling me what happened?”

“Course not. I guess that’s what vacations are for. But forget about me now.” She starts to sound less uninterested, “It’s been a while, Carlos.”

“Twelve years.” The fact that he doesn’t even need to count the number. He just lets it betray him.

“Been here for long?”

“Yeah. Ever since...” He pauses to fight the impulse to ask whether she still remember their first and last kiss. _Jesus, Carlos, will you stop? This is so juvenile._ “Ever since we parted.”

Jill doesn’t seem to notice much. “Why Miami?”

He shrugs. “Well. What do they say. You can’t run away from who you are.”

She raises her eyebrows, “Didn’t know you care that much.”

“I didn’t. It just found me.” Pretty much his story in a nutshell. “Miami is a good spot anyway, to stay updated. And it suits me.”

“It does.” She agrees, almost deeply. “Any plan to go back?”

“Not likely in couple years.” He will be honest. “But after that? Who knows?”

This strikes her somehow. “Good for you. You’ve still got a place to go back to.”

“Jill-”

“Forgive me.” She said awkwardly, pulling up a self-mocking smile. “You know, you have a talent for finding me in a mess.”

“You’ll never be a mess for me, supercop.”

She breaks into the first genuine smile ever since they started talking.

“Maybe I should stop calling you that.” Not without noticing the slight astonishment that flashes across her face, he quickly explains, “You are here as Jill Valentine. Not anything else.”

She relaxes on hearing that. Her expression softens, though not enough to erase her weariness. “Thanks, Carlos. Though I have to admit I kinda like that nickname.”

Carlos can actually feel the corners of his mouth rising - She STILL likes it. This is something, isn’t it?

“Stay as long as you want to. I’m always here. And I’ll be very happy if you tell me some of your stories.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To explain why Carlos as someone who works with intelligence didn’t get much info about Jill, let’s assume that BSAA was top secret. And the González Team’s focus isn’t on that.  
> (Lame...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept Jill's scar on her chest from RE5.

Listening to Jill’s story is somewhat like assembling puzzles. Not that she hesitates to confide. It’s just not her thing to talk about what happened to herself. In her case, to finish a story telling, it takes more patience from the narrator than from the listener. Carlos actually doesn’t mind at all since this has given him more time to stay with her.

Whenever the day allows he will invite her for lunch - either he cooks or they find some neat place to eat out, and this is usually followed by a casual walk...As if to take his advise Jill is now doing better as a vacationer. The past couple days have been like time-travelling back to 12 years ago. They are friends, can definitely be more, and there are moments in which he was certain that she was thinking about the same thing. 

But he can wait.

Not that he has waited for 12 years and doesn’t mind waiting a little longer - he had never actually “waited” for her since he had never seriously expected to see her again. What happened a few days back was a pure miracle. Of course he doesn’t want the miracle to end right here, but he found waiting not really agonizing.

Jill is even generous enough to pay occasional visits to the González’s for its honestly average drinks. Sofia has become friends with her, and found it hard to believe when Carlos told her that Jill was not his date.

“What? You guys are not dating each other? Does that mean I can ask her out now?”

“Go punk girl. Fair competition.”

“Oh come on. You literally look like you’re gonna cry.” Sofia laughed, and then her tone turned curious. “What are you waiting for? This is so...not you.”

“I’m waiting for her to be sure.” 

Sofia sensed the commitment in his tone and now she seemed truly surprised. She has been his co-worker and friend for a decade and she has witnessed a couple of his flings. Now she knows Jill is not going to be one of them.

“She’ll be end of you.” She said with an understanding sympathy.

“She is.”

By now his basic picture of Jill’s past decade has begun to complete: she did brought Umbrella to its end and became one of the BSAA; her blond hair was not the result of some salon whim but that of a tragic bio experiment; the vaccine he gave her didn’t kill all the T-Virus in her, which was ironically the reason she survived the experiment; after a year of rehab she was ruled out from fieldwork, despite none of her statistics suggested this was necessary - this explains her “exile”. Before Miami she has been loitering alone in Hawaii and then Florida for some time, yet the therapy of paid vacations, of picturesque scenery and pleasant towns proved futile on her - the more she saw the harder she could forget, that all these can be nothing in the moment when bio weapons strike...

Each of these stories served as a puzzle pieces, helping him to fill up the blank between this Jill and the one who he remembered as. And when he finished, he realized to his relief that for him her image is still consistent, that she is still Jill Valentine - the same person he’s been stashing in a extremely treasured niche of his memory for the past 12 years.

What comes with these knowledge is a new found anguish, rooted in regret yet goes way deeper and further...there’s nothing he can do - no matter how much he wants to - about all her sufferings that lie in the untouchable past. He didn’t even get the chance to know about them in time but only through her hindsight, which was too objective to sound like her own stories. As if it is decided that in her timeline he only gets to be an irrelevant passer-by.

But now Jill is actually telling him otherwise.

“Back in 2003 I did consider inviting you into the BSAA, thinking we can have a South American branch.”

“What stopped you?”

“A second thought? I decided I didn’t want to drag everyone I met on the way into this.”

“You decided.” He repeated her words mechanically, realizing they all sounded too much like coming from clenched teeth, which they were.

Jill must have noticed that too. She continued with a tinge of bewilderment, “Especially you. You deserve better. You deserve a life. Not this.”

Reasonable. _I_ _’_ _m not one of them. She didn_ _’_ _t trust me. Don_ _’_ _t flatter yourself Carlos. Who do you think you are? Someone she met on the way, not even her friend_...All these wishfulness, self-skepticism, despair, hope...constantly transforming, constructing and deconstructing themselves for years, were now storming in his head in a collective volume of shapeless anger, some towards Jill, and most towards himself.

“ _A life_. Huh.” He laughed, dryly. “Life is hard. It always has been.” Born in an environment where violence was an on-going reality, with his childhood ended prematurely in the battlefield, he knew instinctively to live the present. Now the wars were all over and as a survivor he was rewarded with _a life_. Settling down was not a bad thing and he will always be grateful to people who have helped him. But it has not been an easy thing, because the present could easily fall into a purposeless, endless nothingness. “And you know what keeps me going? It’s the idea of you still being somewhere in the world.” 

Jill was staring at him from the sofa, dumbstruck.

“I didn’t even dare to think of you too often. Every time I saw a shooting star, I prayed that it wasn’t you. Sounds stupid. But it’s true.” _Why am I saying this? She doesn_ _’_ _t have to listen to these bullshit._

But it was too late to take them back.

Jill stood up abruptly from the sofa, and walked - more like dashed - straight towards him.

And she bit his lips.

His very first response was to bite back. He believed his mind had gone blank for a moment, letting their savage kissing continue for several rounds, before he finally realized what they were actually doing.

“Jill, if you think - ”

“Just shut up.” She was busy taking off his belt.

In one effortless move Carlos carried her around her waist, ignored her factitious struggle, threw her onto his bed, and then himself over her.

“Easy. This won’t be over any sooner.”

Once they were on the bed, her wildness seemed tucked away and she was letting him have his way, as if giving him the chance to unleash his anger. But truth was there were hardly any of it left in him - most of his anger had dissipated with his stupid rant.

The scars on Jill’s body were medals, and all he wanted to do was to caress them with his hands and lips...the nastiest one, the one on her chest, was his favourite. But she was apparently troubled by his enthusiasm on it, as she gently ruffled his hair to stop him, “It’s not something beautiful.”

“And not something ugly.” He didn’t stop. “It’s a part of you, Jill. Like any other parts of you.”

But Jill couldn’t stand it any more. While he was still tasting it, she sprung up all in a sudden, entirely switching their positions, with a strength that told him her former docility was all feigned. Now she was sitting on him, looking down at him almost boldly. A fuel to the fire. He reached out to nudge her waist. She bent down, kissed him frantically, her blond hair spattering all over him.

Carlos had thought Jill to be a less vocal type. Well he was totally wrong on that. She expressed her satisfaction with such audible sweetness that drove him dangerously close to the edge, and yet he was doing all he could to get more. 

When she collapsed on him, and her breath wove around his neck, he heard she say, “Can’t believe we didn’t do this 12 years earlier.”

“And for that I sincerely blame you.” He sneered, half jokingly.

Jill raised her head up, amused. “So it is my fault? Why is that?”

He gave her a "No more comment" expression. And she took it. "Okay. I hid too well. My fault."

“It’s alright supercop.” He gave the tip of her nose a nibbling kiss. “Now we have plenty of time to make up for that.” 

Jill laughed, her voice tempting with arousal as she taunted, “You know I can fuck you all day here in this room.”

On hearing that he rose, pouncing on her like a revenge.

“Challenge accepted.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist like a pair of scissors. A new round began. 

“All day”. He knew she mean it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry for the suuuuuper lagging update!!!  
> It has been the most difficult chapter for me to put in this language.   
> (Yes this is actually a sort-of translation work, originally written in my own lauguage)
> 
> I will work on the rest as soon as possible.


	5. Chapter 5

June 28，2010. Miami.

These days Carlos has been asking himself if he is being too greedy.

Is he?  
Looks that way.

He wakes up when the sun is down, and seeing the bed beside him is empty he almost loses every motivation to get up. The dream is over. The dream where Jill spent every night in this room, and “day off” was the synonym of porn.

In the end, nothing has changed.

Didn’t he see this day coming? Yes he did, occasionally. But then he has also gladly fled to the pleasant view of her that greeted him every time he woke up.

Now, looking at the well-made other half of his bed, he dully muses to himself: at least she could leave me a rose or a note or something. This somewhat ludicrous scene of finding a rose or a note somewhere in the apartment actually gets him out of bed, and the living room sees him slouching in, low in spirit. 

And also Jill.  
Jill is walking out of the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel.  
And still wearing one of his tees. 

“What’s the plan for tonight?” She asks, totally innocent of his inside drama.

...Damn.  
What is wrong with being too greedy?

Carlos picks up his phone to check messages, lowering his head to hide whatever funny face he is having right now.

“Sofia’s friends are holding a dance party in their seaside bar tonight. She’s asking if we want to drop by.” 

“Is it a little-black-dress-with-high-heels kind of dance party?”

He pictures her in the said outfit and grins with satisfaction, “You get it.”

Little black dress and high heels.

Carlos has been confident in his imagination, until Jill completely dazzles him with the real thing. She has pinned up most of her hair, dropping some casual locks to perfectly frame her face. The shadow that once clouded her blue eyes is now replaced by a glitter that reminds him of the starlight. It is true she no longer wears tube dresses - her choker dress is equally gorgeous, but he is going to make sure one day she will totally forget about that scar, just like tonight how he has made her totally forget that she “can’t dance” . Round and round he leads her turning, following the music only loosely, until finally she falls into his arms, heartily laughing.

One song ends and another begins. This one changes the mood by starting with a melancholic harmonica tune. Carlos puts his hands on Jill’s waist, while she places hers on his back. Cuddled, they sway slowly, breathing each other in...How would you react in a situation like mine? When all birds they ain’t singing. The song goes. Carlos thinks of the past, casting his eyes on the beautiful shape of her lips. Kissing doesn’t happen very often between them apart from during sex. He doesn’t know exactly why.

“What’s on your mind?” Noticing his quietness, Jill asks, softly. 

You make me laugh. You make me shiver. Isn’t that a fabulous thing?

“Our first kiss.”

“Oh that.” She raises her fan-like eyelashes and looks at him with bittersweet tenderness. “I really should have kissed back, consider all the time I spent afterward trying to stop myself from thinking about it.”

“We can do it again.” Carlos finds his own voice coarse. He lowers himself to kiss her, trying to bring back the carefulness he remembers, only to find her kissing him back with a brand-new passion, and he can do nothing but to make this kiss more suffocating. When it is over, it is over with them still forehead against forehead, already missing each other, and Jill whispering to him, “Don’t worry. There’s no plane waiting for me. I’m not going anywhere.”

One sentence. One sentence from her and that’s all it takes to erase whatever doubt and disquiet in him.

For both of them the party ends too early, although it is actually past midnight right now. The beach is almost empty. Jill takes off her high heels. As they walk on the sands, her arm in his, Carlos tells her how intriguing fate could be. “I dreamed of you the night before we met. You were washed up on some beach. I thought you were dead and that scared the hell out of me. And then I woke up.”

Jill sees this a little bit differently. “This is unfair. You always found me in a mess, even in dreams.” Joke aside, she continues as if finally decides to reveal something she’s been hesitant to let him know, “You have any idea why I chose Miami?”

“Enlighten me.”

“I was thinking, if Carlos Oliveira is still in this country, where is he most likely to be?” She tilts her head to one side and slightly smiles to him. “Guess I got lucky.”

Carlos is once again amazed by her. He has been the one who always seems to know the right things to say, but she? She is magic.

“And what has been keeping you from telling me this?”

“Pride?” Shaking her head, she confesses, “I mean, look what life has done to me. But you? You haven’t changed a bit. Still that charming bastard, unharmed by all these years, all these time, all these...real-life bullshit.”

“Well now you know. That’s not me.” Carlos scratches his ear. Such compliment from her, though mistaken, is rather new to him.

“Yeah. And I felt reassured knowing you are not that impeccable.” She sighs, slightly disapproving herself. Then she looks back at him, softness in her eyes, “But you are still a charming bastard. No doubt on that.”

“You too, Jill. You are the One-and-Only Supercop.”

She laughed. “Sounds even funnier. But I’ll take it.”

They stop by a tranquil corner of the bay. All yachts and boats are away from them. The new moon tonight is letting all stars to shine, to pour themselves into the calm, dark ocean. 

Jill gazes upon the starry night. “There’s a lot of work to be done, Carlos.” Her words are steady and assured.

Sensing her fingers tighten around his, Carlos does the same, and answers her with the same steadiness and assurance. 

“We’ll manage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I quoted when they are dancing: How We Walk by Mando Diao. The MTV unplugged version. 
> 
> Linearly, the story ends in this chapter.
> 
> But during my writing I kept struggling with Jill-side logic so I eventually developed an extra chapter for that.  
> And that will be the chapter 6 of this fic.


End file.
